


One Step, Two Step - and Together

by halocentury



Category: Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Background Relationships, Bernie Taupin POV, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halocentury/pseuds/halocentury
Summary: Out of a whole stack of envelopes from that desk, one singer-slash-pianist was to meet one lyricist.One step, one move, and they came together, a dance.This is a variation of that dance, over the years.





	One Step, Two Step - and Together

**Author's Note:**

> I'm focusing on the movie itself, even though these men are not just characters but individual people. Although I must say, the idea of Bernie interpreting much of these years, as mentioned in the story, as a dance, has more to do with Jamie Bell's dance history. I do love creative liberties. ;)

Ever since they met, it felt like it was predestined. Out of a whole stack of envelopes from that desk, one singer-slash-pianist was to meet one lyricist. It could’ve been anyone. Yet Ray handed Elton the envelope with the sheriff badge on it.

His.

They didn’t have to like each other. They didn’t need to click. But they did. That first shared glance to one another, like a couple in the darkened corners of a club. One step, one move, and they came together, a dance. The meeting of artist and writer never developed a bond quite like this.

It worked, beautifully, seamlessly. 

Wandering London until the underground opened for the morning. His songs sent by envelope like a dance card. A “Would you do me the honour?”

Elton never declined. 

The songs and the dance played on.

Soon there was no need for envelopes, living under Arabella’s roof. Nights and days writing on any flat surface he could find while Elton found the perfect melodies to complement them. 

Sharing drunken giddiness, what should’ve been a regular walk back from the club involving tripping into waste bins. Cats would’ve danced better than them then.

A heartfelt profession on a rooftop. Not the kind that Elton wanted but sometimes the dance was not meant to be shared between lovers. 

A moment in Elton’s childhood home. Unable to look away when Elton sung to his soul, his heart and smile breathless and about to leap. Their song. Your Song. A song to life and love and a career launched.

The kick that launched a waste bin a year ago but which propelled Elton aloft, lifting the crowd of the Troubadour off their feet, onto the stage. He could only dance and shout from balcony, seized by the moment, grinning and clapping Ray’s shoulders. 

A stolen night, or several as it was, as he danced the night away with Heather. 

Delighted that Elton got to share a couple of dances with his own special someone.

The high never came down. It just changed, gradually, the longer John stayed in the picture. He hadn’t thought anything of it, working with Elton on the road or in the studio, wherever and whenever the inspiration struck. 

John just had the tenacity of an ant and the nose of a rat. He hadn’t noticed it before, but John could scent out the next best meal and how to sick his teeth into it. Latching onto gold records, knowing what could be bought with such success.

The nights that Elton wouldn’t remember, barely conscious, swaying to the remnants of song, grasped by the power of cocaine and alcohol, he remembered too well. He might’ve hummed in Elton’s ear, occasionally kissing his forehead once he had Elton in his bed, hotel or otherwise, gently positioned on his side. He would take care of him.

He tried to get Elton to slow down, to take a break, but this frenetic dance, and the Great King Rat himself, had Elton in their grasp. A parody of love that Elton wanted but didn’t give him what he truly needed.

He saw what happened in their encounters. Reached out to him but too late. Elton sunk, stopped. He tried to follow, and he should’ve, gone to the hospital, waited for Elton to come out. 

But the tour had to go on. From venue to venue, dizzying twists and twirls, lights, colours and sounds ringing in and out the ears, pinball game being played in his head and upon the piano. The digits and counters. The dollar signs flashing in John’s eyes.

He needed the break but for Elton’s sake he had to try again. And again. 

How he managed to find the opportunity to get Elton alone, in that restaurant, he wasn’t sure. He had to fight to get his own time with him; everyone wanted a piece of Elton.

What he knew Elton needed was peace.

It was the return of how they met, seated across from each other. Yet they sat in the middle of the room, in a spotlight for the other diners to watch them. In a café, all those years ago, young and bright with daylight shining in through the window, they were nobodies. The waitress and the other patrons rolled their eyes when they burst into song, paid them no mind.

No more. They waited on Elton. Waited for what would come next.

It was normal for Elton to walk out on the crowd. A dramatic exit preceded by a dramatic entrance.

Bernie walked out. Not for the dramatics, despite what Elton was shouting after him. 

He wanted their dance back. The joy that came from working with his friend, lyrics and music melting together to create a life experience, a whole new entity that breathed and bled emotion to anyone who listened. He wouldn’t demand it though. He could wait. What Elton needed to do first was decide if that was what he wanted.

Hugging Elton in the rehabilitation center, he tried not to cling to his best friend too much.

It had been decided. 

Elton did it.

They could do it again.


End file.
